


Turbulences

by saphsaq



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VIII: The Last Jedi (2017), Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Music, Blizzards & Snowstorms, Divorce, F/M, Humor, Kylux - Freeform, M/M, Mary Sue, Post-Divorce, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-14
Updated: 2018-01-14
Packaged: 2019-03-04 16:32:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13368693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saphsaq/pseuds/saphsaq
Summary: For all my North American friends, who, since the holidays 2017 are either tumbling in a bomb cyclone or in a polar vortex. This is a Gary Stu, where our hero wakes up in the world of The Last Jedi, meets representatives of the First Order, and things take their natural course. Except: Gary won't save the world, and he didn't become the love-interest of everyone in sight—or does he? See chapter four for the later scenario, but beware of missing consent and implied Kylux.Archive warnings pertain only to chapter four.Otherwise just minor spoilers for TLJ, but lots of swearing and a healthy dose of bad humour. Betaed - many thanks to WH!





	1. Chapter 1

The way back from my ex was hell. Not because my ears were still ringing—and yet the kids and I had had only shared a measly bag of popcorn. And a Slurpy. A fucking single blue Slurpy. We had pretended it was blue milk. No reason to yell I would fatten our offspring to walking lipocytes. Besides, cinema without popcorn is... meh. 

At least the twins were home before the snow storm turned into a blizzard. During the drive from the cinema to their mom we had joked people were walking crystal foxes instead dogs—now I wished for a taunton. White walls were building at the edges of the road the moment I left town. And they moved inevitably towards the centre of the travelled way. Ed would've a shitload of fun when doing rounds with his snowblower later. My Ford had it already—it shook its mane in the sudden, howling gusts and tried to break away.

Eventually it was head on to the doggone snow. The storm was past that sort of warm-up screaming I use to do before a gig and in front of my windshield was only white-striped darkness. What a supreme cluster fuck! I thought of hyperspace jumps—and how the heroes of TLJ ran out of fuel... When suddenly on the left side a wide, brightly lit oblong appeared, I intoned a Te Deum. Ed's driveway! And my humble abode—or rather the band's rehearsal room, where I slept since the divorce. I aimed and the Ford slid like a wet soap bar towards the light...


	2. Chapter 2

"Get up!" 

The light was too much. And the ground fucking cold. I sat up. If Ed wasn't all of a sudden into TIE-Fighters, this **couldn't** be Ed's workshop... 

"Go, go! Get up!" 

This also was no Star Wars movie set. This looked too real. It sounded real. It even smelled real! So fucking real, it now dawned on me, that only idiots laugh at the weapons and the marksmanship of stormtroopers. With that calibre the two white-helmeted guys in front of me didn't need aim carefully. With that calibre even a graze would cost me the whole arm. Cautiously I reclaimed verticalness. Around us were lots of people tinkering on TIE-Fighters and platoons of stormtroopers marched in locked step but seemingly aimless around. They were probably exercising. In the huge gate of the hangar blinked stars. Every time a fighter came in or went out, this sight distorted a bit. And I had thought it was Ed's driveway! 

"Name?"

I had no idea how and why I got out of a monster storm and onto a monster spaceship. I had no idea, if the steaming heap of scrap aside me was really my Ford. I did like you do when the police stops you—play nice, show your hands all the time and wise cracking only if everything else fails. "Gary."

"What do you want here, hobo?"

Play nice! Or I wouldn't be able to tell my kids of my adventure. "I was on my way home. Got pretty windy. Must have lost my way somehow... "

"Shut up!" barked the other stormtrooper standing in front of me. A thing the size of a 737 which looked like a three-finned handheld vacuum cleaner, landed close to us with a soft hiss. It lifted its lateral fins and lowered a ramp. A tall redhead with a long, black coat debarked, followed by a guard of stormtroopers. I recognised him immediately—this one also had played in the mov... Wrong! This was reality, fucking Star Wars reality. And in this reality he approached the three of us swiftly and brushed off the crisp salute of my two wardens with a sharp: "Why do you stay here?" Suddenly the countless marks on the floor of the hangar made sense to me. General Hux' Shuttle was parked askew. 

The stormtroopers again saluted: "Unannounced landing. Probably resistance scum." 

"So?" the general eyeballed me with disgust. 

Okay, I too think thorn jeans are crap. Especially when you can see the long johns through the holes in wintertime – mine are grey by the way, in case someone wants to know. However my good jeans are in the laundry. And my Christmas sweater, the one with the T-Rex who is feasting on a reindeer, is actually a quite nice piece of knitwork Sue, my ex, made. "I'm a musician!" 

"Shut up!" The stormtroopers didn't just look the same, they also used the same lexicon. "Nobody is asking you!" 

I ignored this order. Another important rule for police checks: stick with the upper echelons if you want civilised treatment. "I can prove it, I... it..." I broke off. I had wanted to explain that everything was on my BMI membership card. The card was behind the blind at the windshield of my car, where I stored all important paperwork that would otherwise get lost. Yet the Ford, or whatever vehicle brought me here, was only a misshapen lump of metal now. Inwardly I apologised to the two stormtroopers. Whoever had rescued me from this wreck couldn't be too bad. 

Hux smiled thinly. Not a nice smile, but I had caught his interest. "Of course this can be proven. What do you play, man?" 

"Guitar."

"Aha …" He nodded sagely. Then his gaze became frosty: "And what should that be?" 

My ass, was this snotty twerp kidding me? **No guitars?** What about the Zabrakian quetarra? They couldn't obey this idiotic distinction between Canon and Legends for real, could they? "Those music instruments with metal or nylon strings... You plug them! Strings. A stringed music instrument!" 

"Well, stringed music instruments we certainly have aboard. You can regale us with a tune." The general folded his hands on his back and rocked slightly back and forth on his toes. 

"Sir", someone from his guard answered discreetly. "We don't have stringed instruments aboard, sir. With the exception of…"

A blush crept slowly up from Hux' neck. "Then you bring this one!" he snapped. Two men dashed off. 

The moment I was finished with checking if I still had all ten of my fingers they came back. On a kind of hoover sledge the two stormtroopers carried a harp. A fucking pedalled single-action concert harp. With a body of wood and gold embellishments on its head and foot! "... need something to sit on", I breathed. 

The general jerked his head and they dragged an ammo crate forward. Was there anything I could do about it? I play the guitar. In my own, moderately successful metal band. I also play the bass reasonably. Yet the last time I laid hand on a harp was when granny became sixty. And mightily sauced I had been then. Scrutinising I touched the strings. "The key." 

Hux hesitated, then he came to me. The gesture his gloved hand put the harp key on my palm reminded me, how the father of my ex had handed me the key to his Dodge for our first official date. Like then I tried to exude nothing but trustworthiness and competency. Then I tightened the strings until they did sound light and hard like my Tele. The general snorted and stepped back into the rows of his stormtrooper guard. 

I closed my eyes, flexed furtively my shoulders—and let go. If you're playing Stairway to Heaven, precision and speed are imperative. If you're too slow, it just drones on and becomes cloying. If you play too fast, you'll have towards the end no room for the glissandi and everything is a sonic mush. I managed the intro without a major mistake, and after a few beats I was pretty certain, the hangar commanded an incredible acoustic—and that without an actual PA system. What a place for a real concert! Unplugged if possible! At beat number 40 I dared a glimpse at the audience. General Hux still looked down on me in doubt, and the stormtroopers stood to attention—some of the technicians however perched motionlessly atop of their TIE-Fighters and stared at me. I continued working concentrated through Led Zeppelin's masterpiece. When I got closer to the middle part, the technicians had abandoned their machines already and, together with the stormtroopers, started to surround me like birds in a park. Still they kept a respectful distance to their general. Still. He looked much more relaxed now. His mouth was opened a bit and the ice in his eyes had thawed. What I brought out of his harp apparently met his approval as a musician. I nodded encouragingly at him. I wouldn't cause his baby any harm. Then I began the part with the guitar solo… 

Stormtroopers and technicians were packed so tight around me now, I couldn't gauge how many they were. But I doubted a single one in the whole hangar was any longer working or exercising. The general had, despite his height, almost completely vanished in the crowd. I could barely glimpse a tuft of ginger hair bouncing to the beat. Before me, one of the technicians was teary eyed. Maybe just because he dabbed repeatedly his wet face with an oily rag. In the front row all stormtroopers had removed their helmets and beamed at me like candles on a Christmas tree. Some of them were sitting on the ground, their blasters carelessly put aside. There is this moment in every concert, when you know, you hit the sweet spot. Then they'll eat out of your palm and just want more. More and more. And that exactly was the fucking problem! While I feigned to jam relaxed, I was already agonising what to play next – Amazing Grace? The Call of Ktulu? Of **that** I knew at least two cover versions. Or rather ABBA's Super Trouper? After his holidays in New York Ed had told, the hipsters there were positively crazy about ABBA. Or better something Skrillex? There was this orchestra suite… Is it **actually** possible to play dubstep on a harp?! 

"You brain dead Sinkar helium slugs, I'll set your butts on fire! What is this? A party?! When I come down every single one of you freaks is on battle station again!" A gigantic figure in a shiny chromium armour stood at one of the upper gangways, clutching the guardrail. With a sudden leap it vaulted over the rail, and landed, decelerating by help of a flare from a jetpack, directly in front of me. The blaster pointing at me was also chromium-plated. Over the muzzle flash I could hear General Hux' indignant voice: "Captain Phasma!"


	3. Chapter 3

Again the light was too much. Yet at least warm instead cold. I opened my eyes and looked into a kind, old, black face with elegant strass studded glasses and a frame of white hair, fine and fluffy like cotton sugar. "Hello there, young man!" 

I spotted the name plate on her lab-coat: "Hello Dr. Johnson. Man, am I glad to see you." 

Dr. Johnson chuckled. "If you were dead you would see the same. My twin-sister Billie is head of pathology." She pressed a couple of buttons on softly beeping devices over my bed and took notes on a clipboard, then she turned again to me. "I'm Bobbie." She produced some instrument from her coat's pocket and made a quick move. 

"Ouch!" 

"Very good! Nothing frozen off." Dr. Johnson took again notes. 

I gulped. "Where am I?" 

"In the Old Hope. You can thank your friend. He discovered you after you had hit his snowplow and brought you here immediately. Now I know by the way how the snowplow driver comes to his work. He takes it home!" Dr. Johnson chuckled again. 

"It's a snowblower." 

Unperturbed Dr. Johnson checked two more boxes on her clipboard. "And memory is also not impaired. Edin Soric's Wrecking and Removal Service, right?" 

I nodded. "How is my Ford?" 

"Your car?" Dr. Johnson now nodded too, compassionate. "Junk. Did you drink something?" 

"No … No, I've been at the cinema with the kids. The matinée of The Last Jedi …"

"Hold it, stop! Shhht! Say no more", Dr. Johnson suddenly looked like a teen when she covered her ears. "I won't have any of it. I'll watch this movie not before tomorrow night. Nurse Ron!" A hulking bald bloke moved into my field of vision. "With nurse Ron you can talk about it. He's been in TLJ three times already. See you later." 

The bald head grinned. "501th Legion. If you had attended the premiere, you'd have seen us in full." 

I grinned too. "My kids would have loved it. And me too. And I wouldn't have ended up in a snow storm." Awkwardly I tried to sit upright, the nurse hurriedly stepped up and supported me with care. "Say Ron, is Captain Phasma always such an ass?" 

"What?" he looked blank. 

"If you got a little time, I could tell you a story. Actually I've been aboard the Supremacy." 

Ron reached for a chair. "Tell me, buddy."


	4. Or That Part of His Adventure, Gary Never Told Ron, But Got The Inspiration For His Next Album From

The alien detergent they had used for my clothes didn't smell too bad. I realised that when I lifted a hand to knock at the door of the cabin I was told to report at. Or was it my skin that had this certain, unobtrusive, agreeable smell like fresh from the laundry? Washed and dried and pressed—what a dapper little Gary I was... The door opened before I actually had touched it. "Come in!" 

I glanced over to the sentries watching the general's cabin door. The stormtroopers stirred as much as Disney animatronics in the after hours—but who knows by what wireless communication I had been announced. I entered. With its dimensions the room could have featured as an outside cabin on a cruise ship, but it was windowless. Aside a divan-like bed stood the harp. 

"Yes, it's back home." General Hux had taken off hat, gloves and coat. And he smiled when he rose from a chair at his working desk where a hologram subsided. With a couple of fast steps he came over to me. "Perhaps you'd like to try your hand at it again? Later perhaps?" 

"Perhaps." I said non-committally.

He had now crossed the cabin and stopped hard in front of me, trying all he could do to look welcoming and pleasant in his First Order uniform. "How are you?"

"Fine." That was a lie.

His smile lost a bit of its radiance. "Did Captain Phasma apologise already for her stunning shot?"

I don't mind to hang out with guys who appreciate music like I do. But right now I felt urged to move and step back so close he was. Yet, that would have brought me deeper into the cabin. So I stood: "We had a talk. She seemed interested how far my tatts go."

It took longer than I expected to sink in, then the general spat red-faced: "That's none of her business! That animal!"

To her rehabilitation I have to say, she had left it up to me, if I would like to be stunned before or not. And stupid me of course had to opt for not. 

"That animal!" Hux grabbed my hands. "I'm only glad your hands, your beautiful hands aren't hurt, Gary." 

Phasma had purred afterwards not because she was satisfied with my performance, but like a cat who had successfully snatched the juicy piece of meat before another one could sink a teeth in it. If it wasn't some corrosive agent in this spaceships air con that let me feel a sting of disappointment about this realisation, I was not only stupid, but sick and a pervert on top of everything. "General..." 

"Armitage, Gary. Armitage for you." He was now squeezing and kneading my hands gently, unabashed signalling what he wanted to do with other parts of my anatomy. "I'll make good. You'll see, I'll make good." There was still a pink hue on his cheeks when he suddenly slammed his body in mine shoving me against the wall. "Sweet boy... Poor, sweet boy," he murmured, planting kisses all over my face. I managed to free my hands only to have the next moment his half upwards my chest under my sweater. He was not an inch taller than me and hardly heavier, but needy as hell. The moment I fought him off, he was immediately back, gasping: "Yes!" His hands searched blindly, urgency teaching his fingers to solve the mysteries of a button fly. I gave up on playing nice. I rammed my knee in his groin and a fist under his chin. With a final swinging blow I send General Hux sailing across the room. He crashed into his desk. That result matched fucking well with my mood. 

Yet a voice in the back of my head said that something was not right. The voice said: "Did he tell you already how he likes it best?"

The pale, long face hovering in the dark door frame had this expression of utterly honest hate I thought until now only small children are capable of. "Yes," I responded, buttoning me up, "and I didn't like it." 

"Ren, that's none of your business." Hux had propped himself up on one arm, his blue eyes flickering hatefully at the intruder through strands of ginger hair hanging in his face. 

I heard the soft cracking noise of leather stressed almost to the point of breaking. Kylo Ren's gloved hands were closed in fists. The general's body tensed. Rolled on his back, only his head and heels now touching the ground. Then he fell down, writhing in agony, groaning: "Ren... Ren… Ren..." He was still hard. 

"You don't belong here, bard." 

A good voice had that bastard. For real. Would make a fine lead singer for my band. But as the case stands, he hardly would've an ear for a job offer right now. "That is right, I don't belong here, knight." 

A smile ghosted over Kylo Ren's face. "I could make you go, bard."

My lips were dry, I licked them. "I would sing thy praise, knight, if you would do me that favour."

His astonishment was as honest as his hate. "You will do that..."

Perhaps I would have ruined it in the last moment, if I had tried to feed him that my band is called the Raging Rancors because of the T-Rex on my sweater. But I didn't got around doing another line. Kylo Ren pointed a finger at me and the last thing I saw were the looks he and his lover exchanged. Reminded me of the day my ex and I had met at the divorce lawyer. Dazed and confused how we eventually got there, the hate for each other already turning into self-loathing.


End file.
